Seven Hours in Heaven
by simplymondler
Summary: Monica and Chandler get trapped together. Mondler Mush. Oneshot set season 4.


Seven Hours in Heaven

One-shot Mondler Mush. It's set in season 4 and I've probably screwed with the timeline slightly but both Chandler and Monica are single and everyone at Allesandro's still hate her.

* * *

"What did you say that for?" Chandler scolded, shooting the little Italian man a dirty look before hurrying through the deserted kitchen after his friend.

"Monica," he called worriedly, as he followed her into the storeroom at Allesandro's, "you ok?"

"Sure," she murmured not turning around, pretending to search the fully-stocked shelves in front of her, "I'm used to them hating me."

Chandler could hear she was trying to hold back her tears and sighed. He couldn't understand why everyone here was so horrible to her and he couldn't understand why she let it get to her. She was amazing; he wished she knew that.

"The guy's a jerk, Mon," he informed her softly taking a step closer to her. "He's just jealous of you cause you're the head chef…and a lot better looking."

She still didn't turn to face him or acknowledge his attempt at humor. Resisting the urge to sigh yet again, he walked up to her. He placed his hands reassuringly on her shoulders, giving them a little squeeze. "It'll get better-"

He was interrupted by the sound of the door slamming shut and the heavy lock clicking firmly in place.

Oh no.

Quickly releasing her he ran over to the door of the storeroom and tried the handle. Nothing. He tried budging it with his shoulder. Still nothing.

"Hey!" he pounded loudly with his fist, "this isn't funny! Let us out." He was met with silence. "If you don't open this door Chef Geller _will _fire you."

"She can't. My shift ended an hour ago," he heard through the door, followed by footsteps walking away.

He turn wide-eyed to Monica who had come and joined him.

"He's joking right?" he asked her, "he's not just gonna leave us here?"

"He was pretty mad I made him stay late with me," she muttered with a wince.

"Yeah, but he's just trying to make a point…isn't he?" Chandler questioned, trying the handle in vain once more, "tell me he's not serious."

"I wouldn't count on it," she sighed. She knew how much they all hated her here. It wasn't long ago that they'd actually baked her chef jacket and set fire to her hat.

"But-"

He was interrupted when the light from under the door disappeared, as the main kitchen lights were shut off, leaving just the single flickering bulb above them. Moments later they heard the undeniable sound of the kitchen doors closing.

Great.

"So, he's really going to leave us here all night? This is unbelievable…" he trailed off, feeling bad when he noticed her sad expression, "you alright?"

"Sure," she shrugged quietly, hugging herself.

"Mon?"

"I'm sorry," she sighed.

"For what?" he asked softly with a frown. What in the world did she have to be sorry about?

"For getting you caught up in this mess," she admitted, still hugging herself tightly, "I should have known he'd do something horrible like this."

He reached out a hand to gently stroke her arm, "it's okay," he promised, "besides you're lucky, I happen to have been in a similar situation before and am willing to share my expertise."

The tactic worked, she grinned slightly and seemed to relax a tad, "really?"

"Uh huh," he nodded pleased to see a hint of a smile, "you remember that blackout a couple of years back."

"You mean the ATM vestibule incident?"

"Yup," he nodded.

"Didn't you almost choke on gum?"

"_Almost_ being the optimum word," he winked with his trade-mark cheeky grin. "I survived didn't I? Come on, let's get comfy."

They moved over to the far wall. Ever the gentleman, Chandler laid out his suit jacket for them to sit on as they settled beside each other on the floor.

Monica ran her eyes over the stocked food shelves, "no gum here tonight."

"No," he agreed, "but we do have lots of canned goods, so I'd say tonight wins on the food front."

"No Victoria Secret models either," she pointed out lightly.

"Nope," he agreed again, "but I do have _you_ so tonight also wins on the girl front," he smiled playfully nudging his shoulder against hers.

"Pluease," she smiled blushing slightly despite herself.

"Na uh, I'm telling the truth, if I was to be stuck in any closet, storeroom or vestibule…you'd be my first choice of companion. No contest."

Something in him warned he was over-doing it and needed to dial it down, but another part of him was thrilled at the smile that appeared on her face. As her best friend it was his job to make her happy. It had nothing to do with his inappropriate crush. Nope. Na uh.

"Thanks," she said wryly, "ditto by the way."

He had to bite his lips to keep the large smile breaking his face into two.

"So," he glanced at her studying her critically for a moment, "are you doing ok now?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "I know I shouldn't let them get to me but it's difficult sometimes."

He nodded in support. He knew how much she craved people liking her and how much it got to her when people didn't. Not that he could understand people that didn't like her. She was his favorite person on the entire planet. So intelligent, caring, loyal, brilliant…he could go on for hours.

"They're just being difficult on purpose," he sighed, "they're idiots. I know you don't like confrontation but _please_ tell me you're firing that guy in the morning."

"I'll consider it," she chuckled, "if we survive until then".

"We will," he assured her, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles. "I told you, I'm experienced with this kinda thing. I'll get us through it with an unending supply of jokes, sarcasm and my brilliant wit," he wiggled his eyebrows to which she chuckled.

"I'm in for a treat, huh?" she quipped, "seven hours of interrupted laughter."

Seven hours. He couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a type of cruel torture. Being trapped with the woman of his dreams for seven hours, trying to savor their time together but not let his true feelings show. It was going to be interesting.

"Well, I have had a busy week and am quite tired, so some of the time may be filled with snoring noises...in-between the jokes of course."

"Oh of course," she grinned playing along happily, "I can live with that."

"Will it really be seven hours?" he asked after a moment glancing at his watch.

"Yeah, there won't be anyone in before they open up in the morning…and that' presuming whoever opens actually likes me enough to unlock the door."

He placed his arm around her shoulders in comfort. He didn't like her using self-deprecating humor; he didn't like her being so critical of herself. He was allowed low self-esteem, but not her, never her.

"We'll keep quiet and when they come in here to get something…we'll jump them and make our escape."

She chuckled slightly, nodding, before resting her head against his shoulder. She was quiet for a moment before sighing, "I'm glad you're here Chandler, I don't think I would have coped well on my own."

Chandler swallowed down the sudden anger he felt towards her work colleagues. Would they have actually left her here on her own over night? Who could do that to a woman? Who could do it to _this_ woman? He could feel his blood rising wanting to have some strong words with the guy that had done this.

Realizing he hadn't responded to her and that there was little point being angry right now, he pressed his lips to the top of her hair. He was determined to try and enjoy the time he had with her.

"I'm glad I'm here too," he confessed softly. And he meant it. He couldn't stand the thought of her being trapped alone. He knew she was a strong woman but seven hours wouldn't have been nice for anybody. "I don't suppose there's any chance Rachel will report you missing?" he tried to change the subject slightly.

"Nope, she's out on a date and had high hopes of not returning. What about Joey?"

He raised his eyebrows to indicate that was a stupid question, "it's Friday night, of course Joey has a date," he sighed, "it wouldn't surprise me if he had more than one."

It was one of the reasons why he had phoned Monica at work this evening. He hadn't wanted to stay at home alone, wallowing in his lack of a love life. He'd gone over to her apartment instead and waited for a while, surprised that she wasn't already home. Eventually he'd grown impatient and as time had gone by, his brain had started to mock him with the idea someone had hit on her and she was out on an impromptu date, so had called her at Allesandro's. He'd been relieved when she'd answered and explained she had to work late, so he'd offer to pick her up so they could head to a late movie showing.

He'd been looking forward to spending the evening with her. At the movie theatre she'd have been there under her own free will and the seats would have been a lot more comfy than this damn floor. Occasionally he would have been able to press his knee against hers, maybe their fingers would have 'accidently' brushed when reaching for popcorn or he could have found some opportunities to lean close and whisper in her ear.

He lived for these small moments.

"I think it's safe to say we aren't gonna catch that film," he commented gently.

"We'll go another time," she promised, "I'm sure we'll both still be dateless next Friday night." She glanced around the room once more for inspiration, "I guess we'll have to come up with our own form of entertainment," she shrugged, "what games does the expert of these situations suggest?"

"Well, we were lucky in that vestibule. You know those pens that dangle from the little metal chains that ensure you don't steal them?" she nodded. "We made a game from those, you had to sit underneath the pen and move it in a circle whilst ducking your head around it…it's a lot harder than it sounds," he defended at her look, "and I wasn't very good at it but it was fun."

She continued to look at him amused, "only _you_ could be stuck with a supermodel and think that counted as 'fun' entertainment," she chuckled, patting his knee.

"I know," he took her teasing easily, "and please don't tell the guys that story; I have a reputation to uphold."

"I think by _not_ hitting on the supermodel, your usual reputation with the women _is_ intact," she informed him with a smile.

He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her as he pulled a face. She was right.

"I, uh, don't suppose you have any playing cards in your suit jacket?" she asked.

"Nope," he chuckled. "I didn't think I needed them for a Friday night date at the movies." She didn't comment on the 'D' word. "There's always eye-spy," he mused, "or the obvious…seven minutes in heaven…" he raised an eyebrow playfully.

She scoffed, "keep trying, Bing."

"You got a better suggestion?" he asked, trying to get images of the two of them groping each other in a dark closet out of his head. He swallowed.

"We could reorganize the shelves and do an inventory of the stock?"

He'd looked over at her in mock-disgust. She looked almost hopeful, "keep trying, Geller," he advised.

"Twenty questions?"

"Boring." He dismissed quickly with a shake of his head.

"Ok," she shrugged, out of ideas, "your turn."

"Truth or dare?"

"In a store room with two people?" she snorted, "I don't see that ending well."

"There's some wine bottles over there," Chandler indicated to the shelves on the right, "we could play spin the bottle."

She laughed again shuffling to get more comfortable.

"What's with you and teenage party games tonight? Next you're be suggesting strip happy days…" she suddenly thought of something, "is this going to turn into the whole beach thing again?"

Her tone was teasing and light, which was ironic as her question made things that little bit darker for him. He had mixed feelings about their weekend in Montauk, but one thing he was sure on was that the outcome still stung.

"When I asked you out like a hundred times and you shot me down repeatedly?" he tried his best to sound light-hearted and not let any bitterness creep into his voice, "no."

He'd learnt his lesson and taken the hint.

"I didn't shoot you down," she protested, "you were joking and I played along."

"Sure," he agreed quickly, maybe too quickly but he wanted to get away from this topic.

"You were joking right?"

He tensed beside her and carefully repeated his answer, "sure."

"Chandler?"

He knew she knew he was lying but he didn't know how to backtrack. He was very aware that his usual method of coping with these situations – running away- wasn't an option right now. He shook his head and desperately searched for a safer topic. Any topic.

"There's no mice in here right?"

He removed his arms from around her shoulders, trying to distance himself from her as he gestured round their current prison.

She blinked before frowning at him, "what?" she finally asked confused by his non-sequitur.

"Mice," he confirmed, swallowing heavily, "I, uh, was just checking there's no mice in here because if we see any of them tonight you might hear a girly pitch scream coming from my direction."

It was a lame attempt at a distraction tactic and he knew it. She knew it. She didn't laugh, still scrutinizing him and it was making him uncomfortable. Crap. His mind tried to think of any other topic to but was coming up blank.

"You weren't joking were you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head against the shelves behind him. What could he do? Why couldn't she just drop it?

"Mon," he kept he eyes closed and tried to keep his voice steady, "I don't think this is really the time or place for this conversation."

There, it wasn't a confession of guilt or a lie; just a request. A delay tactic.

"Why not?" she insisted.

He opened his eyes wide in disbelief as he looked at her, "Why not?" he mimicked incredulously, "Um, I dunno, maybe the teeny tiny little detail that we are trapped here together for the next several hours, may have something to do with it," he tried not to snap but he was already fed up with the conversation and this whole situation.

How had they gone to light-hearted fun to this?

"Maybe that's a good thing?" she suggested softly, "means we could talk about this and not be interrupted."

Talk? He didn't like this sort of talk, in fact he liked the interruptions. He welcomed them in these type of situations.

"Please can we just leave it?" he pleaded quietly.

A moment passed of silence and he relaxed slightly, actually thinking she was complying with his request.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she whispered. "Please can we just talk about this for a moment?"

He squeezed his eyes shut against her persistence and shook his head as he desperately tried to think of what he could say to get out of this. What could he possibly do to get this conversation onto safer ground, without exposing himself or his feelings? He really didn't need her to reject him and give him the 'friends' speech again. It hurt enough the first hundred times.

"Hey," he felt her shuffle beside him, her hand rubbing slowly up and down his arm. He assumed it was meant to comfort and reassure him. Instead it burned through the thin material of his shirt. "Please talk to me, Chandler. You can tell me anything, you know that right?"

He swallowed and kept his eyes closed, there was no point in telling her this and making the next several hours uncomfortable, "this is for your own sake, Mon," he whispered, praying she would understand and take the hint.

"Please Chandler."

There was something in her tone which made him open his eyes and look over to her curiously. She didn't sound annoyed or angry, but desperate. Why would she so desperately want this conversation? He met her eyes and was confused by what he saw, not able to decipher the look or understand the unshed tears making them glisten.

"Why?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Because…I need to know if you're in the same place I am."

Silence followed her confession as he just stared at her. Frozen. Could she really mean what he dared to hope? Could she…?

"W-what?" he finally managed to stammer out.

He watched as she pulled herself into a kneeing position, her palms resting on his chest. She looked as nervous as he felt.

"Was Montauk a joke or were you really asking me out?" she asked staring at him intently, like her life depended on his answer.

He could only stare dumbly at her in shock. Mesmerized by the vulnerability in her eyes, the feeling of her hands on his chest. She moved closer, her eyes never leaving his as her face came close, their lips barely an inch apart.

"If you don't want this you need to tell me now," she softly pleaded.

He could only swallow hard and nod, still in disbelief as she closed the gap and pressed her lips firmly to his. His eyes rolled back at the feeling, stunned by the pure pleasure that rippled through him. He let her lead, just enjoying sensations, just amazed that they were kissing.

When she pulled back she didn't go far. Her hands moved up his chest to gently touch his cheek, his chin, his neck.

"Chandler?"

He was aware he was probably still staring in shock and hadn't confirmed anything to her, he swallowed, letting out a breath, "I can't believe that just happened."

Part of him wondered if this was a dream; his subconscious taking him to his 'happy' place whilst in reality he was asleep and drooling in the damn storeroom.

"Me neither…" she still studied him closely, "you're glad it did right? I mean you want this too?"

"God, yes," he came out of the spell and let a blinding smile split his face into too, which she mirrored, "I want this, us, _you_, so much."

She let out a relieved little laugh, "thank god," she murmured, her hand coming to play with his tie, "I thought I'd just made an idiot of myself."

"No, never," he shook his head instantly, his hand running up and down her back, "I'm just a little dumbfounded, sorry. I didn't expect this. I'm more than happy that this is happening, believe me, you have no idea how happy. I've dreamt about this for so long."

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted it slightly. Staring into her blue eyes for a moment he brought her in for another kiss. A gentle exploratory second kiss, which was sweet yet sensual, lingering slightly. When they pulled apart they were both smiling.

"Wow," she commented pressing her forehead to his, her heart beating rapidly.

"I know," he agreed in a soft whisper, his fingers coming up to gently caress her cheek. He couldn't believe just how right this felt.

After they'd caught their breaths, Monica went to move from her kneeling position to sit back down beside him. He caught her arm gently and guided her so instead she sat in his lap. His arms around her waist, her head fitting perfectly into the nook of his neck and shoulder.

"So, how long have you liked me?" Monica asked, snuggled in his embrace.

"A long time," he admitted to the top of her hair.

"So Montauk was…?"

"A mistake," he said quietly. "When you got with Pete, I realized you'd finally found a good guy, who was actually your age and had the money to buy you your own restaurant. When we thought he was gonna propose to you it really shook me up. Then, well, he went and got a little…crazy and you broke up and you weren't just down, like you'd been with Richard. You were actively looking for a boyfriend again, not wanting to be single and I realized it wouldn't take you long to find one so I had a narrow window.

"Then when we were outside Central Perk and you brought up the subject," he shrugged, "some crazy part of me thought it was the perfect opportunity and would be a good idea to go for it. When you laughed as hard as you did I realized you certainly weren't interested and I couldn't tell you how serious I was so…I played along. I guess I was a little hurt and bruised so used the whining and pleading as a cover to try and work out what you wanted…what I needed to do to get you to consider me further down the line."

She swallowed guiltily, "I didn't know. I just assumed you were joking, ya know –funny, witty Chandler. Plus with all the drama with Ross and Rachel and that damn jellyfish…"

"It's ok," he kissed the top of her head, "it doesn't matter now." He rested his cheek on her hair, inhaling, allowing the faint smell of her shampoo surround him. "What about you?"

"Me what?"

"Since when have you liked me?" he asked quietly, almost shyly, "…like this I mean? You obviously didn't feel this way a couple of months back…what's changed?"

He couldn't think of any event or change in their behavior since the beach.

"You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you," she admitted.

"Why wouldn't I believe you?" he asked curious.

"Because," she sighed with a wince, "it's going to seem too clichéd…and ironic."

"Well that's a certainly an interesting mix," he quipped raising an eyebrow despite the fact she couldn't see it, "tell me, come on you know I'm a lover of clichés…and irony."

He brought a hand up to gently stroke her hair, the strands feeling soft under his fingertips as he comforted her.

"Ok, do you remember when we got home from the beach and you still wouldn't drop it. We were at the kitchen table and I told you were sweet, great and that I loved you?"

He nodded, "and finished it with that I'd always be the guy that peed on you? Yep, I remember that conversation vividly."

It had been the conversation that in his mind had confirmed she didn't like him like that. Before with the jokes it hadn't felt she was rejecting him, more just playing along. Although the comments about him being too immature had stung for sure, however, it wasn't until they had been back in the real world and she'd given him that final little speech that his last hope had been squished.

"Well," she confessed, "after you left I realized I was still smiling, because of you. I realized that you'd made me smile all weekend despite everything that had happened and I slowly replayed our conversations and I started to wonder 'what if'. What if I'd played along just once, even as joke? What if I had let you take me out on a date or kiss me? I started to see you differently and couldn't move pass the idea of what being your girlfriend would be like…or kissing you."

"So there was a silver-lining to that weekend after all," he mused, hugging her tighter, "so why didn't you talk to me, you know, after you'd figured out how you felt?"

"Because," she pulled back enough to look up at him, meeting his gorgeous eyes, "because I still thought you had been joking. Then I thought if I did tell you, after I'd turned you down repeatedly, that you wouldn't be able to take me seriously and make a big joke out of it and tease me."

He nodded, understandingly before, unable to resist any longer, he leaned forward and claimed her lips. The kiss soon turned passionate, full of emotions and longing. He groaned slightly when he felt her fingertips inch between his shirt buttons and touch his bare chest, burning his skin there.

"Mon," he sighed as he pulled back, one of his hands capturing hers, "we've gotta slow this down."

"Why?" she moaned frustrated at his interruption.

"Because I've waited for this moment for so long now, I want it to be special…perfect," he confessed, stroking the hand he held, "I don't want it to be on the floor of some storeroom."

Her annoyance faded into a warm smile. He was soo sweet, "how do you imagine it?"

He swallowed, slightly embarrassed, "I don't know," he shrugged slightly, "I figured I'd take you out on a proper date somewhere and we'd be all dressed-up. We'd have an amazing time out, drink a little wine and get a tad touchy-feely. Then we'd come back to yours and maybe I'd have bribed Rachel to light a few candles round the room, maybe a few rose petals on the bed…" he trailed off blushing.

"I never thought you'd be so romantic," Monica admitted, releasing her hand from his hold and using both to cup his cheeks, "it's really cute."

"Cute?" he questioned warningly. "I'm _not_ cute."

"You so are," she countered, "wait until I tell Phoebe and Rachel you said that, they are gonna to be all 'ahhhhh.'"

Woah.

"Phoebe and Rachel?" he asked swallowing, "you're going to tell them? About this?"

"Oh course," she smiled, "I've been boring them with my feelings for you for over two months. I've gotta let them hear the good bits."

"You told _them_ that you liked me?" he asked surprised. Somehow he'd assume that she'd keep a crush like this secret, like he had.

"Well sure," she shrugged, stroking his chest, "they're my girl friends Chandler. I tell them practically everything. The only other person I tell things to was you and I couldn't tell you about this."

"Oh," he guessed he understood. He remembered back to Ross confiding in the guys about his crush on Rachel, "what did they think?" he asked almost nervously.

"Of me liking you?" she asked to which he nodded, "they were actually very supportive, surprised at first, well at least Rachel was. Phoebe claimed to have already known, ya know, what with her psychic abilities and all."

"Naturally," he laughed playing along as his hands stroked her waist.

"She thinks we're soul mates."

"Really?" he frowned.

"Yeah," she chuckled, "but they've both been really great about it. They'd listen to me go on and on…"

"You went on and on? About me?" He asked smiling, simply amazed.

"Uh huh," she grinned, "you're a pretty incredible guy. Lot's to talk about."

"I'm glad you think so," he quipped, "I'm not, but if you wanna think that, then I'm _definitely_ not going to discourage you….I take it _they_ didn't try and discourage you."

"No they thought we'd make a good couple."

He smiled surprised by this. He'd always thought they'd make a good couple but didn't think he'd have the girls' backing, always assuming they'd think he was too immature for her, like Monica had originally.

"What about you?" she asked, "did you talk to anyone about me?"

"No," he shook his head.

"Why not?" she asked curiously, "we're a close group."

"Cause, they'd think I was stupid for punching so high above my weight," he confessed quietly.

"What are you talking about?" she asked surprised by his admission, "I'm not a better catch than you are."

"You so are," he smiled not minding that she was mixing her metaphors, "but, again, if _you_ wanna believe that, I'm not going to discourage you."

She chuckled, cuddling into him and just enjoying being in his embrace. She was so excited that this was happening for them. She couldn't believe it had taken being locked in a storeroom but she wasn't going to complain.

"So, if you liked me," Chandler broke the comfortable silence that had surrounded them, "why did you turn down the offer of spin the bottle, truth of dare or seven minutes in heaven?"

"Honestly?" he nodded, "I thought you were joking and that I wouldn't be able to hide my feelings from you."

Ah. He could understand that. Whilst part of him had wanted to play those games to have some fun memories to look back on, another part had been worried about being trapped so long with her and trying to hide his crush.

"So wanna play them now?" he asked eagerly, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Sure…" she laughed, her fingers stroking his chest, "although we've already done truths, kissing and this whole situation basically is seven minutes in heaven...well seven _hours_ in heaven."

He contemplated what she'd said and realized she was right.

"Guess that just leaves strip happy days?" he laughed.

She echoed the laughter, before pulling him down for a kiss, then another and another.

"I think I'll stick to the seven hours in heaven," she murmured in-between kisses.

He agreed as he matched her kiss for kiss, unable to get enough of the feel and taste of her. Despite the fact it was starting to get cold, he was hungry and his butt had already gone numb, as he pressed his lips to hers and let his hands roam her back, he knew there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

As far as he was concerned, he was in heaven.

* * *

The End - I hope you enjoyed this little piece of fluff. Let me know your thoughts :o)


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